


Stare

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magick, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Soulmates, coven - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: “Similar to Soulmates, a Fated One is someone you are joined to for one reason or another, fated to meet, but they are someone you can live without. A Soulmate is someone you cannot live without, at least not happily. A Fated One may turn out to be a Soulmate, depending on circumstances.”--Dictionary of Magicks, by The Wolf Sorceress





	1. Jaime: She Looked Right Through Me

Jaime was used to being stared at. Lots of people did it, men, women, children, it was nothing new, and really, how could he blame them? Chiseled good looks, golden blond hair, flashing green eyes, strong body, tight clothing. Frankly, anyone who didn’t stare was probably blind.

So when he saw someone staring at him, but not staring at him in particular, he was a little freaked out. She wasn’t pretty, not in the slightest. If he had to be nice about it, he would say she was _interesting._ She wore a worn out shirt, Oathkeeper written across the top, and a picture of the heavy metal girl group under that. Fitted jeans and boots, with a dark denim jacket to complete the look. Light blond hair that stuck out like she had just rolled out of bed (though he had to admit that it was charming on her), a too wide mouth with very kissable looking lips, freckles, so many freckles, pale skin that looked like it would burn if she stayed out too long on an overcast day, but her eyes… Oh, those eyes, they captured his attention. Blue like sapphires, brilliant and gleaming. He would swear that they would shine in the dead of night. She stood there in the middle of the busy sidewalk, ignoring the people around her, and was mumbling something. A string of words that he couldn’t make out. She held her hand out in front of her, as if begging for change, but no one seemed to notice her. How could they not? Those eyes…

Belatedly, he noticed her companions, a short brunette girl with blue streaks, and a tall redheaded girl. The blu-nette had a cat-like quality to her, while the redhead reminded him of the noble ladies of yesteryear. Their hands were also held out, and they were mumbling in unison with the tall blonde. Was it his imagination or was there a glowy light in each of their hands? They continued to stare. Staring at him, but not at him. In front of him? But there was nothing there...was there? He took a step forward, and the blonde wench’s other hand shot up, as if to signal him to stop, but then...he couldn’t move. He was frozen. Try as he might, he could not move. He saw their lips begin to move faster as they sped up their chanting.

Time slowed down, the people around him moved as if underwater, and the very air became still. He saw something in front of him. A shadow of a figure. Then the smell, oh by all the gods, it smelled like it was from the deepest of the seven hells, the scent of sulfur and brimstone. The shape of the figure became clearer. His eyes widened. A beast, a devil spawn. Dark purple skin, massive horns growing out of its head, curling around and back. Its legs and ass were covered in black fur, its feet were like a bulls, cloven and giant. Its back was to Jaime, an incredibly wide and muscular back, just mere inches from his nose. Another step and he would have walked right into it. The blonde wench and her companions disappeared from his view as the monster became solid.

“Who dares to challenge me, Balthasar, the greatest of the earth demons?” a low voice growled.

“I do,” a low, but still plainly female voice said. Jaime wished he could see if it was the blonde wench.

“And what do you put up?” the demon asked, amused at the challenge being issued. He took a step forward, away from Jaime.

“Nothing,” she said. He heard glass shattering. Someone had thrown a vial of yellow ooze at the monster’s feet. It dissipated into a vapor that surrounded the demon.

“You think that little potion will stop me? Don’t make me laugh,” the demon chuckled.

“Oh, it won’t stop you, but it _will_ slow you down,” she said. “Long enough for me to do this.”

A hand erupted through the demon’s back, the demon’s withered heart held in its clutches, black gunk flowing from it as it twitched in pumping rhythm. He had never been squeamish about blood, but this was something of a different matter, a demonic matter, and he felt his stomach begin to turn a little. Jaime could only assume the black gunk was the demon’s blood. The hand withdrew, taking the heart along with it.

“You would seek to control me!?” the demon raged. Jaime could see some of what was going on through the new window in the demon’s torso.

“If it makes you feel better, I only have one command for you,” the blonde wench said. “Die.” She squeezed the heart until it shattered into fine particles of dust.

“I...will be...avenged…my...Hound...he will...destroy...you...” the demon swore as his body disintegrated. The other two girls stopped their chanting.

“He’s gone then?” the redhead asked, her voice filled with tension.

“Yes, this means his Hound has been set free. We’ll go after him next,” the blonde wench said. She looked at Jaime. “First, we deal with this one.”

“Are you going to kill me, too?” he asked curiously. _Shouldn’t I be afraid? They just killed a demon. SHE just killed it. With her bare hands!_ He didn’t feel an ounce of fear though. The blu-nette was glaring at him. _Ok, maybe of her._ A flick of her hand and he was able to move again.

“No, but it is curious that you were able to step inside the boundary. Are you a warlock? A wizard? A mathemagician?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. She was even taller than he realized, when he had to tilt his head up slightly to look at her. Her sapphire blue eyes were hypnotic. He would drown in them if she let him.

“No, just your average joe,” he replied.

“Too bad,” she whispered, a sad smile on those kissable wide lips. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Will I see you?” he asked. He needed to know.

She shook her head, “Probably not.” She leaned in, her warm hand on his chest, the touch felt like wildfire through his shirt that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with her. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips, then mumbled some words in a language he did not recognize.

**********

Jaime blinked. Why was he just standing in the middle of the sidewalk? Tyrion was going to be pissed if he missed their lunch meeting. He touched his chest. It felt warmer than usual, like someone had left an imprint on his soul. He pushed away the thought and hurried along, trying to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something, or someone, important.

A sideways glimpse of a light blonde head caught his eye and he turned, but there was no one there. Did he know anyone with light blonde hair? No, not that he could recall. He shook his head and continued down the sidewalk.

Three women stepped out of the nearby store front. “Perhaps he is a Fated One?” the redhead asked. “Your Fated One?”

“He seemed nice enough. Didn’t freak out about the Earth Demon being vanquished right in front of him,” the short girl pointed out.

“Doubtful and I suppose,” the blonde said to each companion respectively. “Let’s go. We have to get to the Hound before he causes too much mayhem, though that part of the prophecy might be about to come true.” A wave of a hand and the three vanished into thin air.


	2. Sandor: Freedom...Sort Of

Darkness surrounded him, literally and figuratively. His world consisted of killing for his master. He hadn’t considered himself human in a long time. Not since he lost  _ her. _ He neither liked nor disliked his role in life. He was neither content nor discontent. He simply... was. That was all he needed. To need more, to want more, would be to invite punishment.

Then came the pain. Someone was attacking his master. The pain called him forward from the pocket realm he was usually kept in. He was in a city. How many years had it been since he was last outside? Thirty? Forty? It was always the same for him, however. People stared. They always stared, either at his monstrously large body or his monstrous face. After centuries of it, he was used to it and ignored it. He could not find Master. He sniffed the air. Master’s scent was faint, indicating he was very far away. It was odd that he had been released at this distance. His master must have been injured, or-- The pain changed to burning. His whole body was on fire, intense and relentless. He fell to his knees, he might have screamed. Then it was gone. The pain, the burning, it simply vanished. The bond forced on him when he was sold to the demon was undone. He was free. And then he was screaming again as the power flowed into him, pumped into him, forced its way into him. The bond was broken, but the power needed to exist somewhere, so it flowed into the being that had been attached to the demon when it died. He didn’t want the power, but he had it. At least, he was free.

The people around him did not appreciate his freedom. Or maybe it was his screaming that they did not appreciate? They ran away from him. He could smell the fear coming off of them in waves. A police cruiser peeled to a stop in front of him. It was more sleek than the last one he had seen, looked like it could move faster, be more nimble. It might be fun to go for a run and let it chase him. Two more joined it. Cops sprung out of each car, their guns pointed at him. They yelled at him to drop his weapons. He laughed. His fists were deadly enough by themselves, did they mean that? Maybe they meant the great sword and the axe strapped to his back? Or the array of knives strapped to his pant legs. It didn’t matter. They’d have his weapons once he was dead. He took a step forward. They fired. The bullets stung, but he couldn’t die. He had tried. The enchantments on him were strong then, even stronger now that Master’s power flowed into him. He roared at the men. Usually that was all it took. These were warriors, however, like him, in a way. They did not cow. They continued to fire. He continued to walk forward. He grabbed his axe and swung it at one of the cars, narrowly yet purposely missing the head of a cop by inches, the sharp end of his axe embedding itself in the metal of the car. A small blur rushed him. Two small feet connected with his jaw, sending him back a few steps. The small blur was on him, fingers at his throat... A waft of a girl. Dark brown hair with electric blue streaks, grey eyes similar to his own. She hissed an enchantment at him,  _ “Cingit, onerariis! Ad avum roj!” _

The noise was gone. He looked around. The city was gone. Or rather, they were gone from the city. They were in a field of wildflowers. The city was in the distance.  _A transportation spell?_  

“Wild Wolf, you can release him.” He sat up and turned to look at the speaker. A tall, blonde woman was a few paces away in a fighting stance. Behind her, a red haired woman was constructing a barrier spell.

“Little bird?!” he choked out. The blonde looked towards the redhead.  _Sansa! How are you alive?!_  

“You know him?” she asked.

Sansa’s eyes had gone wide. “I... um, no, I do not. But...he knows the name…”  _ Not ‘my name’, ‘THE name’. And she's lying about knowing me… Curious. _

“Interesting that we ran into a possible Fated One earlier, and now a probable Fated One,” the little brunette said. She had released him and was staring down at him where he sat in the grass. “You aren’t as rabid as the stories would have us believe.”

“Now that my demon master is dead, I am in control of my actions. He preferred a gruesome, ‘rabid’ impression for the most part, and I was bound to his will. Though I admit, I was a bit disoriented when I was freed.” He glanced over at Sansa. He had been shocked to see her, but now that he had some time to think, it couldn’t possibly be her, could it?

His little bird, his love, the keeper of his heart, though she had not known it. She had died in his arms the day he was gifted to and became bound to the demon. If this girl looked like her, what did that mean? He needed to know, and there was only one way he could find out. He rose to a kneeling position, his eyes on Sansa. “If you will accept me, allow me to become your servant. I will accept any vow or binding ritual you would ask of me.”

“We don’t need you, Hound,” the Wild Wolf spat out.

“I wasn’t offering to  _ you _ ,” he spat back. “What say you, little bird?”

Sansa’s brow was furrowed in concentration. _“How_ do you know that name? How do you know me?”

He licked his dry lips before speaking, “I...I am not of this time. I was born centuries ago, nearly a millenia, I think. My master kept me in a pocket realm when he did not need me, which kept me from aging while I was inside it, but it was also hard to gauge time as well. I was twenty-eight years of age the day he forced me into servitude. I have aged about five or six years, from the times he called me forth to do his bidding. The Enchanter had killed my previous master when she did not accept his offer of marriage. She was the Sorceress of House Stark, blood of the First Men, blood of the old magic. She was a very powerful mage, but she had a weakness. She saw the good in others, even those who had none. She trusted that the Enchanter would accept her refusal. He attacked her with a kind smile on his face, while I could only shove him off of her. She cast one last spell to get us to safety, but she died in my arms moments later.” He looked up at the woman in front of him. “You are exactly like her.”

“You’ve spent your entire life in servitude?” she asked softly. He nodded. “Why enter it voluntarily? Because it is all you know?”

He shook his head, “More of my life has been spent serving the demon than anyone else. My time with the Sorceress...it was short, only a small fraction of my life, but it was worthwhile. I would give her a thousand lifetimes, if I could.”

“Why offer your services to me?” Her eyes glowed slightly as she spoke. Or maybe that was his imagination. “Because I look like her?”

“No, because you have that same...essence.” She gave him a confused look. “Don’t know another way to describe it. I look at you and I see her, but I close my eyes, and your presence feels the same as well.”

“And ‘little bird’?” she asked.

“My nickname for her. Though I called her Sorceress when we were in the presence of others. She had a title and reputation to uphold. I have called you ‘little bird’ twice now. I apologize for that, and I will cease to do so.”

“Oh! That’s alright. I don’t mind.” She blushed a little and lowered her eyes.

The blonde pulled her aside and whispered to her. The Wild Wolf joined them. A normal man would not have been able to hear, but Sandor was far from normal.

“Red Bird, what do you make of him?” the blonde asked.

“He passed the truth spell. I believe him. Though I am curious about this person he speaks of. Could she be a past life?”

Wild Wolf answered, “Possible. You have so many. Sam would be able to tell you.” They all looked over at him. He didn’t bother to avert his eyes. “For now, let’s keep him close. He is a prisoner until we verify his story.”


	3. Gendry: It’s A Gift

How long had he been in this cell? He thought it might have been three days, but he wasn’t completely sure. The first day, possibly more than that, was spent in and out of consciousness. He groaned at the memory. The mage that had knocked him out hadn’t known that he was a mere minor magic user with zero magical defenses. Most of the people there dealt in highly potent magicks, so why would they think he’d be an exception? At least they hadn’t thrown him in the Black Cells like the others. And he got to see _her_ every day so far.

Gendry opened his eyes at the sound of an adjacent cell being opened. A huge man with a half-scarred face was being shuffled into the small quarters. He wore all black, a long shirt, a belt with a dull brass buckle, trousers of a heavy duty fabric, combat boots. All of good quality, he noted, though of a very old style that was only seen in history books or on modern people doing reenactments of the past. There were marks on his clothing that indicated he usually wore other belts, most likely for weaponry. _She_ was the one forcing the big man to submit (along with the red-haired girl who had tended to his magically inflicted maladies). The tiny silver-eyed goddess he had first seen during the worst of his delirium. The very sight of her had calmed him, though she never spared him much attention. _I wonder if there was an obsession spell that got mixed into what hit me?_ He had never felt like this before, and it was unnerving.

“You’ll stay here until you are told otherwise, Hound,” the goddess stated, closing the cell with a mighty clang.. She left, sparing Gendry a quick glance, but she was gone before he could say anything. The red-haired girl stayed behind.

“If I come back later,” she started. The big man leaned against the bars watching her. His good side was to Gendry. He looked at her like a man in love, but if he had heard correctly, this was the _Hound,_ someone more monster than man, if the tales were to be believed. She steeled herself, looking right in his eyes. “If I come back later, will you tell me of this Sorceress?”

“I will tell you anything you want to know, if it is mine to tell,” the big man rumbled. She nodded, glancing up at him nervously, and leaving. The big man watched her leave. Gendry wasn’t even sure the guy knew he wasn’t alone until he said, “What’re you in for, kid?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Gendry answered, stretching a little on the provided bed. _More of a cot that happens to attach to the wall._ “I was making a delivery to a place that ended up getting raided, got caught up in the crossfire. Woke up here.”

The Hound frowned at that. “Shouldn’t they have let you go by now?”

“Normally, yeah. But they’re running some tests on me. Something came up in my initial scan when I was brought in.”

“Initial...scan?”

“Oh yeah, that was abnormal protocol, too. See, I have no magical ability, at least not in the way that coven of witches do. Like I said, I was just making a delivery. When the raid happened, it was for illegal magicks. Well, more illegal than normal. I got hit with a hex that knocked me out cold. Once they realized the mistake, they brought me here, undid the hex, and performed a scan to make sure there were no side effects or anything that time could not heal. Something came up, and they’ve been running tests since then. I don’t mind. They’re feeding me, keeping me safe, and they already said they’d help me out with a new job if I get fired from my old one, which probably already happened. Again, not something I mind. It was a shit job anyway.”

“I’m surprised that magic is so accepted in this time,” the Hound said.

Gendry raised an eyebrow. “Uh, it’s not. Magic users have to stay hidden or face persecution by the government. It's heavily regulated, to the point that even simple magic is practically illegal. How do you not know that?”

“I was kept in a pocket realm. Last time I was let out was at least...fifty years ago? Maybe longer. Hard to tell time in those things. I was only let out when my master needed me. And even when I was let out, it was only long enough to kill whoever my master needed killed.” The man shrugged. “Hard to find out what’s going on when you’re only free for a few days at most.”

“I thought you were an immortal, your stories have gone back nearly a thousand years,” Gendry said.

“Nope. Completely mortal. Just very, very, _very_ hard to kill. Thanks to my own skills and also to the enchantments of...a very powerful sorceress.” The man sat down on his provided cot. Gendry had trouble fitting on his with his height. The Hound made it look like a small bench. He felt a little sorry for him. “How do you know of it then? Of magic?”

“My mother and I both have it. Different kinds. She’s a minor witch, has a license and everything. Does healing work in our town. Magic users have a fifty-percent chance of having a child who is also a magic user. I have elemental magic. Metal. It’s like... I can speak to it. I’m quite good at it, too, but it’s completely worthless against people like the ones in the raid. I can’t cast spells, I can only manipulate materials. If I had found enough, I might have been able to create a shield for myself, but it wouldn’t work against spells unless it was magically enforced, which is not something I know how to do. I moved to the city to see if I could find a mentor, but so far, no luck. I have to apply for a provisional license for anyone to even _think_ of accepting me as an apprentice, and that requires money, but the only work I could find leaves me with next to nothing after necessities are dealt with.”

“So you could technically leave this place at any time?” the Hound asked, looking at the metal bars.

Gendry shrugged. “I guess. Don’t want to though. Except for the boredom, this place is way better than my apartment.” _This place has the goddess, for one._

“So what else can you tell me about this world, this time? Magic has always been feared, but never to the point where governments went after them.”

“You really want a history lesson from _me?”_ Gendry asked incredulously, sitting up on his cot. The Hound nodded. “I’ll do my best. Just a disclaimer, there are some holes in history that no one knows the answer to. Ok, so about two generations back, a family of non-magic users came into power. The Lannisters were always kind of a big thing, but Twyin Lannister shot the family up into the stratosphere when he became the patriarch. He wanted to control, well, the _world,_ I suppose. There were factions that stood up to him, mostly magic users. Couple that with the rumors that his wife was supposedly killed by one...it started a vendetta, and has grown to an outright hunt. They reward people for turning in anyone believed to have magic, to use magic, or even anyone who has knowledge of magic usage."

"But they allow some of it?" the Hound asked.

"Like I said, my mom has a license, and there are processes to apply for one, but it's incredibly hard to get through all the bureaucracy as well as expensive. Mom managed to get one through a benefactor, and uh... she had me nine months later. She says she doesn't regret that, but... Anyway, back to Tywin. His daughter, Cersei, is pretty much his ventriloquist dummy. Or maybe you could liken her more to a parrot? Either way, she basically follows what her father does, though I get the feeling she’s not even half as clever as Tywin Lannister. Maybe not even a fourth as clever. His son, Jaime, is a spokesperson for the BMA, the Banish Magic Act. I’ve met the guy, he seems pretty cool, ‘cept for the whole against magic thing. He has a second son, but I've never actually seen him speak on his father's crusade. He's a bit of an oddball from what I can tell.”

The Hound frowned, but stayed silent.

Gendry sighed. “Anyway, so, fast forward to today, something is happening on the magical plane. Any person or thing with magic, living being or artifact, is steadily growing stronger. The exact logistics of it escape me, but even my meager power has more than tripled in the past two years. No one I know can explain it, and from what I’ve heard, it’s very upsetting to the Lannister faction. They fear a revolution. I, for one, only want to be able to live in peace and practice my craft. I’ve gotten pretty good at making sculptures.” He sat up straighter and looked around. Seeing no one coming, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a tiny silver wolf. “I made this yesterday. The guard left behind a spoon and I couldn’t help myself.” He handed it over to the Hound through the bars. The large man turned it carefully, evaluating it.

He handed it back to Gendry. “It’s very good. I’ve never seen such fine detail.”

Gendry shrugged, but couldn’t suppress the proud smile. “I have a lot of time on my hands in here.”

“Could you make other things?” a quiet voice said. “Like weapons?”

“I suppose, so long as it’s of metal. Never tried befor-- Wait, who said that?” The Hound was looking as perplexed as Gendry felt.

A slight rush of power and the goddess was revealed only inches in front of him. He was startled enough to jump back and hit his calf on the edge of the cot. He thought he heard her snort in laughter. He doubled over in pain and felt blood seep through his pants leg. “Silly man,” she murmured and knelt down. “Hold still, I’m not as good at the healing arts as my sisters are.” He felt her hands on his calf, then a warmth invaded. He knew the feeling well, his mother had healed him many times with this technique, and he relaxed into it.

“Thank you, milady,” he said quietly.

She snorted again. “I’m no lady. We’re still trying to figure you out, but in the meantime, you can work in our armory. We’ll still keep an eye on you, and you’ll have to sleep here until other arrangements can be made, but what do you say?” She offered him a hand.

“I would be honored, milady.” She raised an eyebrow at him, but crooked her finger and let him out of the cell. She picked up the metal wolf.

“You have a talent, Mr. Waters,” she said, staring at the tiny sculpture. “A real gift. May I keep this?”

Gendry felt the breath leave his body. The goddess wanted something _he_ had made. “Of course, milady. It is yours.” _I made it with you in mind, after all._


	4. Brienne: Familiar

Brienne watched the mirror intently. The blond man was with someone familiar to her, Tyrion Lannister. He was a friend of the magical community, though it was a secret from his family, and a close personal friend to her coven. There was already a file on Jaime Lannister, which she had reviewed at length.  _ Tyrion has magic. If Jaime is his brother, he may have a latent power. That would explain how he got into our wards. _ She shook her head and turned off the mirror with a wave of her hand. Sansa and Arya hadn’t said anything about her memory spell earlier, but she knew they would be wondering why she kissed the man to enact it. All she needed to do was touch him, but she had given in to her instinct and  _ kissed _ him.  _ Kissed him! For the sake of all the gods, why did I do that?! _ It had confused her as much as her coven, but she had no answers. It had just seemed… right. He was so familiar to her, she had almost not done the memory spell to begin with, but she was not one to buck protocol.

_ Sansa suggested he might be… might be my Fated One. But that’s impossible! That would mean Arya’s has already appeared, though the Hound is most likely Sansa’s. The way he looked at her. And if they’re here, then the prophecy is unfolding. The Titan will appear to tear the world apart. Ugh, I think. Prophecy is so difficult! _ She didn't even want to think about the one prophecy that suggested the three Fated Ones were also Soulmates.

Brienne took a deep, calming breath, then opened the crystal channel and sent a summons to Sansa and Arya. They were in her room less than five minutes later.

“Girls, we need to revisit the topic of Fated Ones,” she said, sitting down on her bed. Sansa joined her, while Arya sat on the giant beanbag chair. “What do we know?”

“I was joking earlier, you know. You seriously think that monster may be a Fated One?” Arya asked. “It may just be a coincidence he knew the name in Sansa’s prophecy.”

“It’s not,” Sansa whispered. "And you know it."

“Tests will be run on him, but I was actually referring to earlier than that, when we defeated the earth demon and that man…what Sansa said...” she trailed off, remembering the panic she felt when she realized someone else was trapped in the pocket realm with them. She hadn’t been able to stop the magicks at work, only add to them to freeze the intruder in place. Afterwards, she had taken a better look at him, the beautiful man who stared at her like he was entranced. She shook him from her mind. “But, if the tests come back with what I suspect, then the prophecies are coming true. The evil we have been preparing for is coming, maybe even here already. These Fated Ones are merely a sign of it. You know what the song says.”

"The Broken Titan song… I hate that one…" Sansa said.

It was a silly rhyme that had been sung by children, both magical and non, for ages, but to the magical community, it was a warning, straight from the infamous Wolf Sorceress, who was said to have burned cities to the ground when they didn't listen to her warnings. 

Brienne sighed. “Further study and other linked prophecy suggests that the ones mentioned will be revealed in close proximity to each other. Like dominoes, once we find the first one, the next will be revealed, and then the third, but we’ve gone from zero, to possible, to probable. So, the question is, where’s Arya’s?”

“In the armory, speaking to Mikken and Tohbo about weaponry.” She stretched out like a cat. “Test results came back on him. He has a marker for a Fated One, and he’s joined to me. Seems we missed the first one and he's been right under our noses the entire time. Haven’t told him yet though. That’ll be interesting.” She held up a small silver object, though Brienne couldn’t tell what it was.

“Meaning the man from this morning is likely yours Brienne,” Sansa said. “We should find him again. I can--”

“I already did. He’s Jaime Lannister, elder brother to our dear friend, Tyrion.” Brienne sighed and ran her hands through her already messy hair. “He’s a spokesman for his father’s campaign against magic. Whether or not he believes the drivel he spouts is another story. We’ll need to run tests on him to make sure, but I think you were right, Sansa.”

“I’ll contact Tyrion,” Arya said, jumping up from the bean bag effortlessly. “Sansa, you might want to go have a talk with that Hound of yours.”

“He’s not--” Arya slammed the door close after her. “Mine… Ugh, he belongs to someone else,” Sansa said dejectedly. “She’s right though, I should go speak to him.”

“Sansa…”

“Hmm?”

“You ok?”

The redhead sighed. “Yeah, I just…” She sighed again and fell back onto the bed. “I dreamed of him."

"Of who? When?" 

"The Hound. Nearly all my life I’ve dreamt of him, but his face was this fuzzy blur. At least it was until the Surge started, then he started to become clear. I feel like I know him, but he sees me and he sees the past, someone else. And if the prophecy is anywhere near literal, then he’s going to die because of me!”

Brienne looked at her sister in concern. “Sansa, you know prophecy has a funny way of working out. It might not be literal at all. Have you talked to Sam about the woman the Hound mentioned? The Sorceress of House Stark? She could be an ancestor as well as a past life. Odd that you share the same name though.”

“Not yet, but I hadn’t considered that part, me being my own ancestor. That would make this even stranger.” Sansa sat back up. “Might as well go right now. What are you going to do?”

“Shower, nap, then find out what Tyrion told Arya.” It was nice having a clear cut plan. The relief she felt was from that and only that, and certainly not because she would be seeing Jaime Lannister again.


End file.
